Among Mad People
by MyownlilfantaC
Summary: What if Reid can't figure this one out? What if his genius mind can no longer tell nightmares from reality? Did he wake up in the hands of a new unsub or in his worst nightmare? Warning: Strong language/Mentions of sexual abuse. Strong M rating for language and adult themes.


_**Among Mad People**_

**Chapter 1:**

He was being pulled, dragged somewhere against his will, phantom hands clawing at him from everywhere. He tried to shake them off but couldn't feel them, he just _knew_ they were there.

Suddenly they thrust him violently back into the waking world and sound and light and feeling smashed into him with all the force of a wave crashing over rocks. He cried out sharply at the shock of it, attempting to raise his hands to shield his eyes but he was met with resistance and came to realize he was strapped down to something quite soft. A bed. Straps around his wrists and ankles and across his stomach.

Icy fingers of panic began to tickle his insides uncomfortably, laughing cruelly as they stole the air from his lungs. He tugged again at his restraints, heart hammering wildly in the confines of his chest. They wouldn't budge.

'_I can't do this!_' His mind unhelpfully declared, '_Not again..._'

He forced himself to close his eyes and draw a shuddering breath through his nose, fighting the swell of nausea when images of the hell he'd had to endure in Georgia flooded his brain. He drew another breath. Then another. And another. Another...

When he finally felt he;d escaped the clutches of a panic attack, he opened his eyes and stared around the room, dark eyes stabbing at and pinning down the tiniest of details within his line of sight. Studying, mapping, analyzing. He saw tiny imperfections in the dull blue paint of the walls, randomly spaced, some small dents in with sharp and dull edges signified they had been made at different times. As his eyes raked down the wall, he noticed something off near the floor and lifted his head as best he could, trying to make it out from the other side of the room.

When he was finally able to focus his eyes, his blood ran cold and he dropped his head back onto the thin pillow, eyes wide as he gazed at the ceiling.

Scratch marks, plain as anything, had torn through the paint and some of the concrete behind it and it was easy to tell from the pattern and brown streaks that they had been made by human fingernails. He swallowed hard and resumed his inspection of the room. There was a small desk with no drawers, a simple white chair, his bed of course and a window with bars over it. Other than that, the room was barren.

He closed his eyes again, holding his breath, straining his ears...and heard nothing.

He debated calling out. Did he want to draw attention to himself or should he take advantage of the fact that he was alone? Would he ever get the chance to be alone again once they realized he was awake? Sadly it didn't really matter as he'd already exhausted all he could do in his current position, strapped down to a bed.

He rolled his head to the side to look at the door and licked his lips. It too was plain looking but at eye level there was what looked to be an opening like a small window that could be slid open.

He cleared his throat. "Hello?" he called experimentally.

The walls seemed to swallow his voice whole, the concrete absorbing the sound hungrily.

He tried again, shouting loudly this time in hopes that his voice might penetrate past the walls of his prison. "Hello?!"

Still nothing.

An unusual sense of annoyance rose within him and he scowled.

"Did you kidnap me to ignore me? COME ON! SHOW YOUR FACE!"

The door suddenly slammed open, smashing into the wall behind it and a giant of a man stomped into the room and right up to the side of his bed with a thunderous look on his face.

He recoiled as best he could given the restraints and, through his sudden jolt of fear, committed every detail of the man to memory. He looked like a nurse, dressed in white scrubs, a simple name tag was pinned to the breast of his shirt, apparently his name was Brandon. Brandon had dark hair and brown eyes and was built like Morgan without the kindness in his face and the end of a tattoo could be seen peeking out from under the edge of his rolled up sleeves.

Brandon placed on hand on the wall over his head and pointed a finger at Spencer's face with the other, the tip nearly touching his nose.

"I'm only gonna tell you this once, kid. Screaming won't get you nothing but trouble."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Where am I, Brandon?"

A muscle in the large man's jaw jumped and he searched Spencer's face for something before shoving himself away from the wall and shaking his head. "How many times are we gonna have this conversation, eh?"

"I'd have preferred not to have it at all." Spencer was dismayed when the other man turned around and strode towards the open door and he cried out, sounding much more desperate than he'd intended. "Wait!"

He had so many questions and, as luck would have it, Bandon's path was suddenly blocked by another man. He wore a long white coat and carried a clip board under his arm. The new man sent Brandon a reproving stare over the top of the tiny glasses that sat at the end of his nose and waited for the muscled man to step aside, allowing him to enter the room.

Spencer watched closely, seeing the glare Brandon sent at the other man's back before he left and closed the door, leaving him alone in the eerily silent room with the new man. He was older, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties and he looked down at Spencer with a smile that made his skin crawl.

"How are you feeling, Spencer?" He asked at length, pen hovering over his clipboard.

"Who are you?"

The man's smile disappeared and a crease formed between his eyebrows. Then he tucked his pen into the breast pocket of his lab coat and lowered the clipboard with a small sigh. "I am Dr. Neils." he answered patiently.

Spencer grit his teeth. "Where am I?"

"You are at the Rosewood Mental Hospital just outside of Richmond, Virginia. It is September third." The doctor recited as if able to predict which questions he'd been about to ask.

A cold feeling was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach and was quickly spreading through his limbs.

"You're lying." He whispered.

The man smiled sadly. "No, Spencer, I am not."

"There is no sanitarium by that name in Virginia. I would know, I-"

"Because you searched the area for a suitable place for your mother." The man finished calmly before readjusting his glasses and taking a deep breath. "By now you may be feeling as if I'm reading your mind but, since we know that isn't possible, you must ask yourself how else I would know what to answer before you've even asked the question."

When Spencer remained stubbornly silent, the doctor answered for him. "This isn't the first time we've had this conversation, Spencer, but I do hope it will be the last."

The young genius wasn't sure what to say to that. Did the man honestly think he'd believe these lies?

"My team will-"

"Ah yes," Said Neils, glancing down at his clipboard. "Morgan, Hotch, Rossi, Prentiss, JJ and Garcia."

His mouth went dry and he tried to swallow but couldn't. "You don't have to do this, Neils."

Another sigh. "There are some things that we need to talk about, you and I, but I think it can wait until you are feeling better."

"No!" Spencer cried. He wanted to keep the man talking. Wanted to figure him out. Wanted to build a profile as soon as he could. "No...let's talk now."

Neils fixed him with a curious stare. "Really?" He seemed cautiously optimistic.

"Yes. Lets. What do we need to talk about?"

Neils smiled broadly, suddenly excited, and dragged the wooden chair over to his bedside to sit down. "Well, the last time you woke up you were-"

"The last time?" He interrupted.

"You don't remember." It was not a question.

He shook his head, holding back his urge to call the man a liar again. Neils nodded knowingly.

"That's alright. You didn't remember last time either. Not right away." He sat back in his chair. "So, I will do what I did last time and just start at the beginning." His voice turned more gentle then, "You are a patient here, Spencer. You were admitted three years ago and shortly after you were diagnosed with schizophrenia"

"Excuse me," Reid snapped, cutting the man off, "This is not a horror movie. Do you really expect me to believe this? What do you want? Money? Revenge? Recognition?"

"Profiling me will get you nowhere."

"So you know I'm a profiler."

"You are not a profiler, Spencer. You made that up. The team, your place on it, the crimes, the cases, none of it is real. It didn't happen."

"Surely you can do better than that, Doctor." he didn't like how his voice shook but he'd just found out he'd woken up to one of his most frequent and terrifying nightmares.

"What would I gain from lying to you?"

"They always want _something_."

"We all want something, Spencer. Even you."

"Yeah, I _want_ to leave so if you're telling me the truth why am I still tied up?"

"You aren't 'tied up' you have been restrained. For your safety as well as the staff's. You have been...unpredictable in the past and we did not want to take any unnecessary risks."

"Unpredictable? I'm like, the most predictable person I know. I'm the most predictable person most people know!"

Neils looked down at his clipboard again. "Ahh yes, Doctor Spencer Reid, three PHD's-"

"Don't start telling me about myself." Spencer snarled.

"That is what you need to understand, Spencer. That isn't you."

"Really? Then who am I?"

Neils pinned him with a contemplative stare. "We've been here before, you and I. Last time I indulged you and you reacted violently. If I answer your questions now, you must promise to remain calm."

"Cross my heart."

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Neils twisted in his chair and nodded when a man, not Brandon but dressed the same, poked his head in the room.

"I'm sorry Spencer, we will have to continue this conversation later."

A trolley was rolled into the room upon which sat a plate of food and - Spencer felt his stomach drop - a syringe.

"What is that?"

"That is your dinner." Neils picked up the needle. "And this is your medicine."

"I don't want either of them!"

"You haven't eaten in days and-"

"Nothing you do or say will make me eat that."

Neils sighed but simply waved the man away. "Alright, fine." He moved towards the bed, needle in hand.

"I don't want that either!"

"This is what brought you back to us."

"Please! I don't want it, I don't need it. I'm perfectly coherent, aren't I?"

"Relax Spencer. This will do nothing but help you."

He felt the needle pierce his skin and the strange yet familiar sensation of having a foreign liquid forced into his bloodstream. For a little while after the doctor had left, Spencer was not sure how much time had passed, he lay in the bed in a foggy stupor, his limbs felt so heavy he doubted he'd be able to move them even if he wasn't restrained and after a while he became aware of warmth on his face and realized it was morning and sunlight was shinning through the window by his bed.

Enough time had passed to allow the beam of light to move off his face and onto the floor halfway across the room before Spencer felt the urge to move his head again, but simply rolling his head to the side made the world blur around him and he closed his eyes with a groan.

His head was clear, but oddly blank for the first time he could ever remember since taking dilaudid. He tried to think about what that might mean but couldn't be bothered to examine it. When the door opened suddenly, it grabbed his full attention and he stared at Neils as he strode into the room with a smile.

"Good morning, Spencer! How are you feeling?"

He blinked. "Fine."

The smiled dropped slightly from Neils' face. "Really? You don't seem yourself."

"Well, you don't know me."

"Yes I do, Spencer. I know you better than most people. I dare say I know you better than you know yourself right now."

He felt the urge to roll his eyes at the man, but resisted, not wanting to push his luck. "What did you give me last night?"

"_. It had some very helpful and positive effects the last time we tried it. You may not remember but when we eliminated it from you med schedule you...reacted badly. So we reintroduced it and...here you are! Tell me how you feel." He finished, whipping out his clipboard and pen.

Spencer contemplated the question, staring up at the ceiling. "Strangely calm and...empty. Like my feelings have been turned off."

The doctor was nodding as he wrote. "Yes, you said something similar the last time."

"I feel like it should make me angry or upset when you reference my past but...there's nothing."

Neils stopped writing and looked up, appearing slightly surprised. Without saying anything he stood and undid the restraints around his ankles and then the ones on his wrists and chest. When he tried to move, Spencer felt as if he'd been asleep for a hundred years. His muscles were slow to respond to his brain's commands and everything was taking an immense amount of effort, so much so that he decided to stay lying down on the bed and closed his eyes again.

"Spencer?"

He cracked his eyes open and saw Neils looking down at him with a frown.

"Don't you want to get up?"

"No."

"You wanted to last night."

"Well I've changed my mind."

Neils began to look concerned and abruptly left the room, returning just a few moments later with Brandon. "Come on Spencer, time to get up."

Despite the fact that moving was the last thing Spencer wanted to do, he complied. If he was going to escape then he had to get these people to trust him. Brandon watched as Neils pulled Spencer into a sitting position. Then he took control of his own body and swung his legs over the side of the bed, making Neils jump a little at the sudden movement.

Brandon tensed as well and took a step forward as if he thought Spencer might suddenly lunge at them, but Neils held out a hand to stop him.

"Alright on your own?" He ask, eyeing Spencer's trembling legs.

"Yep."

The doctor clapped his hands. "Well done!" He then frowned. "Although it is strange that this is the first time you've experienced these side effect."

"I need to go to the bathroom." He announced suddenly, voice flat.

Brandon grabbed him by the arm tightly and steered him out of the room and the first glimpse he caught of the building beyond his prison was both depressing and discouraging. He was standing in the cross section of two halls of what promised to be a sprawling labyrinth of a legitimate mental hospital, complete with crazy patient in a white hospital gown ambling down the hall with blank eyes and a slack jaw.

They'd only gone a little ways down the corridor before he was shoved through a door and found himself in a small washroom.

He threw a glance over his should, "I can take it from here."

Brandon regarded him carefully for a moment before releasing his arm. "Doc says you're under twenty four hour watch until you can prove you're not going to cause any trouble."

"I'm not going to go with you watching."

"Yeah, you are."

He was shoved roughly towards the toilet but he stood stubbornly with his back to it.

"Do it, before I do it for you, kid." Brandon's face was only inches from his own.

Reluctantly he turned his back on the irritating man and relieved himself. When he was done, he was steered back out of the washroom, down the hall and into his room. Neils was gone when they returned, causing Reid to frown.

He smoothed his features and turned to look at Brandon. "What now?"

"Dinner is in two hours. I'll be back to bring you to the dining hall then."

"Does it have to be you?" Spencer asked blankly.

"What?"

"Are you the only one who works here?"

"Of course not!"

"So then, what didn't you understand about the question?"

Brandon grabbed a fist full of the front of his shirt and he was suddenly slammed harshly into the wall, the jolt ripping the air from his lungs.

"Listen good, you crazy little bitch, 'cause I'm only going to explain this once. I'm here to keep you and the other psychos in line. That's my job and I do it well. Follow the rules and watch your mouth or you'll regret the day you ever stepped foot in this building."

"I think that ship has sailed." he wheezed.

Brandon backhanding his across the face was an expected reaction and he smiled at the sharp tingle it caused for no other reason than to incense the orderly further.

"Crazy bastard." Brandon muttered, shoving him in the wall one last time before leaving the room and locking the door behind him.

Spencer decided he rather liked this blank, detached feeling he was experiencing, it made it much easier to taunt the large man if he didn't care what the consequences were. We was fairly certain Brandon would not do much more than smack him around, because Neils seemed to have a purpose in having Spencer there. If he could enrage Brandon enough to make a stupid mistake, then that may just be his ticket out of here.

* * *

Please review...it motivates me to update more quickly than anything else.


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